submitted by Rebecca Daniels, Macclenny, FL

It was 1989 and a secret was born then buried in guilt never to be told.  I was alone in a crowd and when by myself, angry whispers would surround me.  The voices raged in my head.  Guilty said one harlot fumed another.  He was a good Christian man, a faithful husband and devoted father.  How could I taint him with my presence?  He said he needed me, that he couldn’t stop himself.  I tried so hard to end it, I begged and pleaded.  I could hear the roar of hell’s fire knocking at the door.  There was no one to turn to, no place to hide.  I said no, it was wrong, but it kept on repeating, he said it couldn’t be denied.  Deeper I fell, surrounded by darkness, the shame draining my very soul.  It was 1989 and I was 12 years old.

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submitted by Jamesey Lefebure, Liverpool, UK

As he lays his head down to sleep,
Little Mike keeps his ears open,
For the carpet muffled sound of feet.
The familiar shadow who has a date to keep,
With an unquenched hunger for child meat.
As foreign shadows jump and dance around the room,
Our little Mike tried to embrace the surrounding gloom,
One ear open – both eye’s closed
Poor little Mike awaits his doom.

A sliver of light cuts through the dark,
Bringing invisible icicles that form on young mikes hear;
Knowing this is how it begins, Mike stiffens his body
And prays for the end of his part.

He feels the breath on his neck,
It’s hot, its cold, it’s dry its wet,
Mike lets out a whimper, the hairy hand tightens it grasp
Mike knows his nearly paid tonight’s debt.
The breathing is faster now, Mike knows its close to an end
This violation is almost over now, Mike’s heart can slowly begin to mend.
With eye’s closed tight, Mike begins to pray – a nightly plight.
He prays to the god of puppies, football sweets and treats.
But as for now –his young body is the meat.
Mike is only a child, his body was once pure.
He wishes for death; like it’s his only cure.
Poor Mike’s has not had the life that a boy of 7 should deserve
But in his innocence he has hope to preserve.

The shadow is over his face again now,
The act is over and both actors must take a bow.
A figure of power and trust,
has ruined Mikes life with his perverted lust.

The shadowed figure lingers in the door,
a part of his body twitches for more.
He breaks the silence, with words that carry the usual bite.
“I love you Mike”

His eye’s wet with tears,
his head giddy with childhood fears,
he moves his mouth and whispers

I love you Dad.

submitted by Amber Johnston

click to play: You by Amber Johnston

10 Years Old

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submitted by Lori, written by her daughter Tessa

Rich

you thought you took my life but I’m takeing it back! YOU ARE A BIG FAT HUNKIEDORY WHITE TRASH PERV for what you did to me! Iwill do anything to protect my baby sisterfrom your fatso self! I(HATE )you for what you did and i will tell Heather what you did to me when she gets older. and you always thought you where better than my father and you sayed you wanted to proove the world that you wold be the best dad in the world but you know what you ruined it not once,but many times! i trusted in you but you took advantage of that and you went and molested me! i had to hide inside of my shell for so long to keep us as a family!but now i am comeing out of it and you can’t stop me any more! there are a lot of bad names that i want to call you but i know there wrong. see i think of right from wrong and you don’t!

TESSA

submitted by Patrick Arion, Colorado Springs, CO

An ancient, anonymous American Indian proverb states: “Good judgement [sic] comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgement.” This, a “badge” of wisdom, hangs next to a picture of my mother on a wall at home. Since 1999, she has been deceased. Proverbs serve to call to our attention popular, well-known truths or facts. Notably, a proverb tends to summarize a “truth” and as such: “the truth will set you free.” Considerably more important, is the crux of obtaining the truth from its original source.

Previous to my mother’s new life in the everlasting, I was enabled by truth, to convey to her my twenty-year secret. The truths of an unbearable, abusive childhood seemed to “Turn on all the lights down an unseemingly long hallway!” to the extent that she claimed that finally everything that never had seemed to make sense–the dysfunctionality of our family–came home in illumination. As we cried together, I found myself to have summoned up the courage to be the irreplaceable piece to the puzzle, the mystery. Most of my secret she shared with other family members and the “rest” was to be hers; the serenity of wisdom, she took with her upon her death. ‘Tis as if one were writing with years of tears shed free from their own pen, the drama unfolds now as I once told it to my mother nearly ten tears ago. Read more »